


Hot Water

by NB_Cecil



Series: Doctors and Lizards [22]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Ace!Garak, Autistic!Julian, Bathing/Washing, Canon-typical invasion of privacy by Garak, Cardassian Poetry, Caring!Julian, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Flirting in Cardassian, Garak has no respect for Bashir’s privacy and Bashir tolerates it more than he really should, Hair Washing, Illustrations, Implied Past Abuse, Implied Self-Harm, M/M, Naked Cuddling, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Nudity, Nudity and physical intimacy, Obsidian Order Habits Die Hard, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Kissing, Poetry, Seriously these two dorks are adorkable, Spy!Garak, bathing together, body image issues, body shame, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-05 10:26:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18364163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NB_Cecil/pseuds/NB_Cecil
Summary: Shameless domestic fluff. Garak pays an unexpected visit to Bashir’s quarters; they snipe at each other about privacy and poetry, and take a bath. Set some time in season 3.*****UPDATE as of 29/4/19: now with an illustration by the wonderful Marz (@peacefulspock on Tumblr and Twitter)!********See end note for content warnings.***





	Hot Water

Bashir looked up from his book as the door hissed open.

“Can’t you use the chime?” He grumbled.

“Why? I knew you were in here anyway, and if you weren’t, there’d be little point in ringing the chime.” Garak smiled genially, the door sliding closed behind him.

“Still spying on me then?”

“Really Doctor, you Federation types put far too great a value on personal privacy.” Garak tapped the Human’s feet. “Shuffle up, would you please, dear?”

“And yet you go to great lengths to protect _your_ privacy.” Bashir sniped, swinging his legs to the floor so Garak could sit beside him on the couch. “What’s the occasion?”

“Hm?”

“Why are you here?”

“Do I have to wait for an ‘occasion’ before I can visit a dear friend?”

Bashir wriggled into the corner of the sofa and put his feet in the Cardassian’s lap.

“Well, no...” He admitted, “...but it would be polite to ask before you come striding into my quarters like you own the place. I might have plans tonight.”

“Ah, but you don’t.”

“Privacy, Garak.” Bashir sighed.

“What about it?” Garak asked, thumb rubbing circles on the ball of Bashir’s foot through his sock.

“I’d like you to respect mine.”

“I’m just looking out for you.”

“I can look out for myself thank you,” Bashir grumbled, “Anyway, I _do_ have plans tonight.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Computer, run bath.” Bashir lifted his chin defiantly.

“A bath? That’s hardly ‘plans’, Doctor.”

“It is,” Bashir huffed, “And I’ve been looking forward to it all day, so you can either leave now or join me.”

“Join you?” Garak’s hand stilled on Bashir’s foot. “Is bathing with friends a Human ritual?”

“Sometimes, yes.”

Garak pulled a face. “I’m not sure...”

“Well,” Bashir pushed himself up from the couch, “You can either keep me company or get out. I’m not leaving you alone here to snoop through my things.” He snatched up his pyjamas from a heap of crumpled clothes on a chair as he made his way to the bathroom.

“Very well,” Garak sighed, rising to follow.

In the bathroom, Bashir unselfconsciously stripped off his uniform, undershirt, socks and pants while Garak hovered uncertainly by the door. He swished a hand in the water and instructed the computer to adjust the temperature before stepping in, sinking back against the back of the tub and closing his eyes to savour the sensation of warm water against his skin, a smirk spreading across his face at Garak’s continued discomfort with the situation.

After a moment he relented and cracked an eye open, turning to the Cardassian. “If you’re not going to get in the bath with me, then you can get the wicker chair from the bedroom and read me some of that terrible poetry you gave me last week. It’s on the padd by the bed.”

A look of relief spread across Garak’s face and he hurried out to fetch the padd and chair, muttering about Humanity’s lack of appreciation for high art. Bashir smirked to himself again.

Bashir was flicking blobs of foamy bubbles at the wall when Garak returned carrying the chair with the padd balanced on the seat. He set it down beside the bath and Bashir held his hand out expectantly.

“Oh, I’ve already unlocked it Doctor; I know your access code.” Garak gave his friend his best bland smile as he settled in the chair, crossing one leg over the other. He scrolled through the padd’s contents in silence for a few seconds, searching for a suitable poem. “Ah yes, _The Epic of Entvak_!” He grinned triumphantly.

“No,” Bashir groaned, levering himself up on the sides of the bathtub, “That one’s two hundred pages long.”

“A mere one-hundred-and-eighty-six, actually.”

“Why does Cardassian literature have to be so...?” Bashir gesticulated wildly, sloshing water over the edge of the bath, as he searched in vain for the correct word to express his exasperation, “...Well, _epic_?”

Garak wiped a blob of foam off his knee with a deliberate slowness and began reading.

Bashir’s self-control lasted all of three stanzas before he lunged over the side of the tub and swatted the padd from his friend’s hand. “Nothing’s happened yet.” He whined.

“We’re barely a third of the way through the first chapter, Doctor.” Garak chided, bending to pick up the padd, “There won’t be any plot development until at least chapter three, once we have a clear picture of the family trees of all the main characters.”

“A poem with chapters?” Bashir grumbled, “Who writes a _poem_ with chapters?”

“The episodic epic is one of the greatest genres of Cardassian poetry, my dear.” Garak cast his eyes back down to the padd as he spoke.

“No!” Bashir lunged again, but the Cardassian was ready for him this time and whipped the padd up out of reach. He consoled himself by splashing a handful of water in Garak’s direction. “Look, I just don’t like Cardassian poetry. It’s long and boring and...” He trailed off at the sight of Garak’s crestfallen expression. “I’m sorry,” He reached a soapy hand out to pet his friend’s knee, “I know Cardassian literature’s important to you and I shouldn’t have been so rude about it.”

Garak covered the doctor’s wet hand with his own. “It’s one of the few things I have left of my home,” He said in a small voice, “But I suppose I am rather scathing about Terran literature too.” He conceded.

Bashir sighed, “Will you get in?” He asked gently, pointing down at the water. Garak pulled a face again. “It’s nice. Relaxing.” He continued. “It’ll warm you up. You always complain the station’s too cold.”

“No, I—“ That face again.

“If we dimmed the light and I promised not to look at you while you undress?” Bashir’s asked hopefully.

“Very well,” Garak conceded, “Computer, reduce ambient light to five percent.”

Bashir turned his head toward the wall so Garak could undress.

Once his clothes were folded neatly on the chair Garak approached the bath, propping one hand on the edge for support, and probed the water gingerly with a toe. Bashir slid his body toward the far end of the tub to make room, face still turned away.

“If you sit with your back to me you can lean against me.” He offered.

Garak stepped in and sat down, the two friends wriggling to adjust their limbs to fit around and between each others’.

“Ok?” Bashir asked quietly as Garak leaned back against he chest. He placed his hands gently on Garak’s shoulders, careful to avoid the lattice of scars which criss-crossed the tailor’s upper arms, knowing from past experience Garak was likely to pull away from any touch in that area.

Garak made a quiet noise of affirmation as the warm water and skin-to-skin contact seeped through the tension in his muscles and the chill ache in his bones. He closed his eyes and sighed contentedly, allowing his constant vigilance to subside a little.

Bashir sighed too, focussing on the soothing pressure of the other man’s weight against his chest and pressing his instep against Garak’s calf, ignoring the stirring in his own crotch at the close proximity to the naked Cardassian. Although they had—on occasion—been sexually intimate together, Bashir understood this was not what Garak wanted just now, and neither was it what he wanted, really; the arousal being an involuntary response rather than an indication of actual desire.

“I could wash your hair,” He offered, running a finger down a ridge scale on the side of Garak’s neck.

“That might be... nice.” Garak replied after a moment’s consideration.

Bashir lent awkwardly around Garak and placed a hand under the dispenser in the small replicator embedded in the wall at the side of the bath. “Shamp—.”

“No,” Garak interrupted, “Cardassian hygiene product number seven.”

The machine whirred and dispensed a blob of thick, dark, oily liquid into Bashir’s hand. It glistened in the still-dimmed light. Bashir sniffed it cautiously. It had an earthy, fatty, pungent smell, reminiscent of pine or rosemary, and saddle soap. He shrugged and reached with his other hand for a small jug on the back corner of the bath.

“Cardassian hair has a different structure from Human hair, Doctor.” Garak explained. “Your shampoo would strip the oil out and leave it a brittle, tangled mess.”

Bashir dipped the jug in the water. “Lean your head back,” He instructed. Garak did so and Bashir poured the water over his head, wetting his hair.

“Wait, please.” Garak requested and reached for a towel from the shelf beside the bath. “Computer, run hot water for forty seconds.” Water gushed from the tap into the now-tepid bath as the Cardassian towelled his hair. “It won’t lather if it’s too wet,” He explained.

Once Garak had finished with the towel and dropped it onto the floor, Bashir set to work with the viscous shampoo, spreading it over his friend’s scalp and massaging. He found it didn’t lather into big suds like Terran shampoo, instead working into a thin white foam under his hands.

Garak made an appreciative gurgling sound in his throat when Bashir pressed his fingers into the orbital ridges under his hair. “This _is_ nice,” He murmured.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it.” Bashir leaned closer so his chest brushed against the Cardassian’s back. He continued massaging until the thin foam covered Garak’s hair, then reached for the shower hose. “How hot do you want it?” He asked.

“Forty-nine Celsius,” Garak replied.

“That’s _hot_.” Bashir remarked.

“We are more tolerant of heat than you are, my dear.”

Bashir rinsed the lather off, careful to direct the stream of water away from himself to avoid burns.

“Do you use a conditioner?” He enquired.

“No, we use oil, but I’ll do it once we’re finished in the bath.” Garak replied, sweeping his fingers through his wet hair to push it off his face. “Thank you, dear.”

“My pleasure,” Bashir replied, pressing a quick kiss to Garak’s cheek. He leaned back against the back of the bath, wrapping an arm round Garak to pull him back against his chest as he did so. “And to think that earlier you were so dismissive of my plans for the evening.” He chided.

“Alright, I agree taking a bath might be a legitimate ‘plan’,” Garak conceded.

“But it is a lot more fun with a friend than on one’s own.” Bashir observed.

“And yet you were so displeased to see me earlier.”

“I wasn’t—“

“You complained I was interrupting your plans for the evening.”

“You _were_.” Bashir pinched a scale playfully.

“Ow,” Garak swatted his hand away, “But you admit my presence has improved the experience.”

“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t ring the chime before barging into my quarters.”

“I hardly ‘barged’, dear.”

“What would you call it, then?” Bashir grinned, wrapping his arms round Garak’s middle in a hug.

“I merely let myself in.”

“I’ll have to ask Odo to relinquish your access codes.”

“I used yours, actually.” Garak twisted his head round to smirk in his friend’s face.

Bashir rolled his eyes, laughing. “You are insufferable, really.”

“And despite that, you enjoy my company.” Garak shook his head in mock-disbelief.

“I do. And this bath’s getting cold. Shall we?”

“Mmm,” Garak hummed his agreement, sitting up. He reached for the towel on the floor.

Bashir turned away to spare his friend’s embarrassment while Garak got out of the bath. “Will you stay?” He asked. “Your pyjamas are in the middle drawer. I’ll be out in a bit.”

“I’d like to stay, my dear.” Garak replied as he left the bathroom.

Bashir waited a few minutes in the cooling water to give the Cardassian enough time to dress then heaved himself out of the bath, dried himself off and put on his own pyjamas. He retrieved the padd containing the Cardassian poetry from the chair on his way out. In his bedroom he found Garak seated on the edge of the bed wearing coarse woollen pyjamas, combing oil he’d obtained from the replicator through his hair. Bashir found the bitter-sweet smell of the oil comfortingly familiar; it lingered—he realised—in Garak’s shop and in his quarters, and on the man himself. He grinned and sat down beside his friend, brushing a thumb across the padd’s screen, bringing it to life.

“I could read you a _short_ poem while you do you hair.” He offered, scrolling down the contents page.

“I’d like that.”

“Ok. Let’s see...” Bashir rested his head against Garak’s shoulder as he searched for a reasonable length poem. Garak paused in his combing to press a kiss to Bashir’s hair. “Ah, this one is only six pages.”

“Go on...” Garak encouraged.

Bashir began to recite _Hebetian Sunset_ , faltering over some of the more archaic Cardassian words. Garak resisted the temptation to snipe at his accent and pronunciation, put the comb aside, and wrapped his arms around his friend, resting his chin on the top of the Human’s head. He sighed contentedly.

 

 

_Illustration by the wonderful Marz (@peacefulspock on Twitter and Tumblr)._

**Author's Note:**

> CW: implied self-harm and/or abuse; body image issues and body shame; maybe coercive control, idk?


End file.
